


dulce periculum

by lady_gt



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Dacryphilia, Degradation, Dom/sub Undertones, Gunplay, M/M, Sadism, Spit As Lube, but no one's actually killed or hurt its just part of micolashs weird-ass dirty talk, but tbh compared to other fics this one's pretty tame, implied gore, kinda fucked up consent dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_gt/pseuds/lady_gt
Summary: Laurence has a brush with death. He enjoys it, as does Micolash.
Relationships: Laurence/Micolash (Bloodborne)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 11





	dulce periculum

It doesn't take much - just Micolash tracing the pads of his fingers over that expanse of bare stomach - to make Laurence twitch. He's got his wrists tied up to the headboard of the bed, framing his face. Soon, Micolash thinks with anticipation when he gazes upon that stuck out lower lip and shimmering eyes. Soon Laurence'll start to cry, as if the sight of him willingly helpless and desperate for assistance wasn't enough to make Micolash hard already. He can't say he likes Laurence - how on earth would he be capable of liking a dirty little street rat who managed to climb his way up to a spot at Byrgenwerth by just whoring himself out? But he likes how easy he is. Easy to get worked up, easy to push to tears.

"Micolash, please, I need you, please-" he manages in a wavering voice. Then Micolash reaches up to press his hand over Laurence's mouth, muffling him.

"Did I give you permission to make noise?" 

Laurence shakes his head.

"Of course you wouldn't listen to me. You're about as eager as a bitch in heat - that's to be expected, you're just a little slut, after all. You're to keep your mouth shut till I say otherwise. I don't even want a moan out you. Understood?"

Hot breath straining against Micolash's fingers clamped tight around his mouth, Laurence nods his head.

"Good."

His nails scrape a path down Laurence's shoulders and past his stomach, leaving a line of faint pink in their wake. The word they've picked in case Laurence decides this is all too, too much (even for a damned little slut like him who seems to delight in the pain and dread Micolash inflicts on him) is "crimson" - if the fear Laurence feels is real then he'll break his promise of staying quiet and say that word aloud. And as Micolash drags the edges of his nails across Laurence's thighs and circles his cock but never touches it - much to Laurence's silent dismay, shown through the unshed tears shiny in his eyes down his face and the heavy flush on his cheeks - he delights in the power he has.

For here is Laurence, the first Vicar and founder of the Healing Church. A paragon of virtue, respected and adored by many. What would his loyal followers say or think if they realized their beloved vicar was nothing more than a whore who got off to pain and the promise of danger, and who wept because the scholar who obsessed over him so found delight in his tears? He bets that they'd jeer and be utterly disgusted at seeing Vicar Laurence tied up with gray eyes wide, watching Micolash dig around in his pockets as his cock strains against the cold air. He can see the pre-cum glistening on his skin, slowly trickling down from where it's beaded against the head of his cock.

His hand touches the cool metal and wood of an oiled pistol. Laurence says nothing, though his wrists twist as much as they can against his bonds. 

"You've got such a lovely, lovely body, Vicar Laurence. Perfect for scratching up and ruining. Quite fitting considered the sort of person you are, if I must say."

He can feel Laurence shudder as he leans in for a kiss. Micolash's free hand comes up to grip him by the hair, Laurence's opening legs framing his body. As he feels Laurence's teeth click apart thanks to his tongue prying around in his slowly opening mouth, he watches as Laurence's eyes flicker shut and tears begin to trickle down his cheeks. Gods, Micolash thinks with a groan as he twists his tongue around in Laurence's mouth. As if he wasn't hard enough already - and Laurence is so damningly quiet as he cries too.

"That's good," he pulls away to speak through saliva-slick lips. "Go on, cry for me. You look your best when you do - do you know how hard I get watching you sob so pathetically, Laurence?"

Laurence doesn't answer, simply concentrating his energy into remaining quiet as requested of him. So Micolash drags him into a deep kiss again, then extracts the pistol from his pocket and presses it to Laurence's temple. 

He can hear a sharp breath through the kiss, Laurence tensing up and pressing a little too closely to Micolash's body. Silent as requested, but still fully aware of the gun's barrel placed so close to his head. He ceases the kissing just so he can get a proper look at Laurence's face: Still flushed from arousal, shiny with tear tracks and red-rimmed eyes. He doesn't moan or cry loudly or make any sound save for breathing raggedy with mucus, staring up at Micolash with his mouth half-open.

"Kos, I can't believe you - getting off to danger. I could easily shoot you in the head right now if I wanted, but your prick's hard regardless. You really are a little whore." 

He watches Laurence silently weep. Tears leak out of his gray eyes - still, though, he says nothing to Micolash. He was already told that he's not supposed to. Micolash takes this as a sign to keep going, dragging the barrel of the pistol down Laurence's face. The cold metal traces his cheekbone and the edge of his jaw, brushing over the sharp, defined chin. He taps the cold metal at pink lips lightly, then slips it into Laurence's half-open mouth. Not loaded - fortunately for him, but even more fortunately for Laurence.

"Go on. Use your mouth, use your tongue."

He can feel the pressure of Laurence's lips closing down on the barrel of the gun, beginning to suck. He closes his eyes, paying no heed to the half-dried tears staining his face - subservient to Micolash, dutifully obedient, such a far cry from the poised vicar the people of the Healing Church are so familiar with.

"Imagine if there were actual bullets in this," he whispers. "All it'd take to kill you would be one quick little pull of the trigger."

Laurence's eyes open to meet Micolash's, but he makes no noise.

"What a grim scene that'd be: Here we've got you with the barrel of a gun in your mouth, and it'd just take me flicking the trigger to send your brain matter splattering everywhere here. How unfortunate that would be - Kos be praised that at least I'm not unkind enough to do that to you."

(Micolash is unkind enough to do a good many other things, though.)

Laurence's breathing is muffled around the pistol in his mouth. Micolash knows by the slight clicking noise that his teeth and tongue are brushing against its barrel. Giving a cat-like grin he deliberates in pulling the pistol out of Laurence's mouth, relishing in the sound of teeth scraping and tongue parting. Again, Laurence makes no noise when he opens his mouth fully, a thread of drool briefly connecting his lips to the barrel of the gun.

"Just one pull," he whispers again, pressing the now-wet surface of the pistol to Laurence's chest. "One pull and you'd end up hurt. Or dead."

It takes every ounce of willpower he has not to come at the sight of Laurence teary-eyed. At least he's still fully clothed, so if he does come Laurence won't entirely see it. But what he does see is Micolash dragging the pistol down his body, pausing at his chest or just above his navel and trailing it just around his cock but never touching it. He presses the barrel of the gun to the inside of Laurence's thigh. And oh, the best part is Laurence struggling not to cry even though he's already wept silently: Furiously blinking back the tears he hasn't shed, scrunching his face up as if that will somehow clean his skin of the tears that sit there as residue.

"Go on, Vicar Laurence. You can make noise now. Cry as much as you want, and don't be shy about it."

Laurence hiccups, whining softly through his teeth at the way Micolash moves the pistol over his skin.

"Kos," he gets out, "Micolash-"

"Such pretty skin. So soft and unmarred by scars. Just imagine if I actually had stocked this pistol with bullets and I _ruined_ your body with a fresh scar or worse. Now, where would I put that bullet - through your heart? Maybe against your arm? Or maybe I'd have it lodged inside your thigh, watching the blood trickle down your leg. And the worst part about it is that you wouldn't be able to do _anything_ about it. Because I've got you all tied up and helpless."

There's a sudden defiance to Laurence when he glances up at Micolash, moving the pistol across his leg and further and further towards his ass.

"You _wouldn't,_ " he says in soft disbelief.

"Well, you never know."

Slowly, he twists the handle of the pistol into Laurence's hole. He earns a series of short, undignified whimpers in response. The barrel of the pistol is lodged firmly inside of Laurence's ass, bumping up against his prostate and making him cry out even more.

"I know I said earlier there's no bullets in here. But I wonder just how badly you'd turn out-" Here, Micolash pulls the trigger of the gun, "If there were?"

With a pitiful, strained wail Laurence climaxes, come spraying from his cock and painting his stomach in ribbons of white. Smiling, Micolash removes the pistol and wipes the barrel on his clothes. It makes for a rather pretty picture: Laurence tied up and sniffling, the most prominent noise in the room being the sound of his tears.

"I could just leave you here. Tied up and helpless, an unfortunate victim if someone with a gun full of bullets happened to walk in on you."

"Please, don't-"

"Of course, we both know I'm not _that_ cruel enough to go through with it."

He'll untie Laurence and he'll redress, but for a moment he takes time to admire the tableau of Laurence, sweaty and covered in his own come and helpless.

"Let's face it, Laurence. You may hate me till it makes your blood boil - and I you, don't get me wrong - but without one another we'd be off a lot worse."

A part of him hopes the rest of the church might find out about Laurence, discover the pathetic little whore he always has been and always will be. But he never says a word about it, least of all when an untied Laurence pulls his clothes back on and exits the room.

**Author's Note:**

> micolash: haha laurence is a slut who likes gunplay  
> also micolash: *gets off to crying*
> 
> to be fair at least its not gunplay with brador. with brador he'd probably just have a loaded gun and ACTUALLY shoot laurence idk
> 
> so fun fact i... initially winced big time when i found out about gunplay and my reaction was basically "why the fuck would anyone want a pistol shoved up their ass or into their mouth" but t h e n i started reading more gunplay fics and shit. i think i kind of like it.
> 
> ao3 is sorely lacking in micolaurence content and gunplay content as well as just. slutty laurence in general so... here i am. bringing you that fresh slutty laurence content since 2020. theyre my favorite fucked up otp


End file.
